Say Something
by starryjules
Summary: "I've invited Ziva to the wedding." With those words from his father, Tony felt the perpetual knot in his stomach tighten. Ten months and two weeks after they said their goodbyes, Tony and Ziva will come face-to-face once more. Angst and romance, now complete.
1. I'm giving up on you

**This one has been simmering for awhile...it keeps me sane to think of ways to wrap her into canon storylines. This takes place in May-ish/end of Season 11.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, but I did quite enjoy playing with them again for a little while.**

* * *

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous!"

Tony slammed his finger on the backspace key, watching as the cursor erased nearly an hour's worth of wasted effort. As the letters disappeared, he reached with his other hand for the beer and drained it. After a few seconds, there was nothing but a blank page staring up at him from his laptop screen.

He pushed off the couch in disgust. "This is all your fault," he snapped, glaring at the picture of his father on the bookcase. Tony had been really trying, had found a font of patience he hadn't known existed within him as he helped Senior plan the wedding. He had already become an unwilling expert on buntings and flowers and (thanks to McGee) those fancy place settings that required at least three more forks than he knew what to do with. But his father had shattered Tony's last nerve earlier that evening with his latest announcement.

=.=.=.=

He had been just leaving the office for the day - on time and in good spirits for once - when his phone rang. He sighed and answered, not even bothering with a greeting.

"Dad, I'm not talking to Linda about the music selection again. That's your headache."

His dad chuckled. "Nah, I've given up on that battle. No, listen about the guest list…"

Tony grimaced; regardless of the couple's repeated ruminations about wanting an 'intimate' service, the guest list was already hovering around one hundred and fifty. "The invitations already went out last week."

"I know but we had a few extra here, and I just wanted you to know…" his father's pause was uncharacteristically long and Tony rested his hand on the roof of his car as he braced for impact. "I've... I'm inviting Ziva."

Tony froze, the perpetual Ziva-knot in his stomach tightening. "Dad, you can't…"

"Junior, I know things are complicated…"

"No," Tony interrupted. "I mean, yes, they are. But I mean you literally can't. I don't think she checks her email anymore, and I don't know her new mailing address."

Tony could almost hear his father's dismissive wave through the phone. "Oh, that's no problem. I've already sent the invitation to my buddy Schmiel and he's promised to hand-deliver it to her."

Tony groaned, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the car's roof as the knot constricted tighter still.

His father's voice grew more serious. "Listen kid, she's important to the both of us. Regardless of how you two left things, I love her like a daughter, and I at least want her to know I've found happiness," he paused for a moment and then added hopefully, "Unless you've already told her?"

Tony didn't have to try to remember the last email he had sent. It was on the anniversary of her father's death to say he was thinking about her. He had not heard back.

"No," he whispered.

"Oh. Well, then that's settled. Keep an eye out for her RSVP, okay kid? Linda and I send our love, gotta run!"

The line beeped and went dead and Tony could only fall wearily into his car, resting his head on the steering wheel. Regardless of how far he and Senior had come in the past few years, there were still moments when he hated the man.

=.=.=.=

The second beer was half-gone in one swig, but it did nothing to spark sudden clarity or eloquence. He had known from the second he left the parking lot that he needed to give her a head's up. Needed to ensure that she wasn't blindsided by the invitation.

Almost a year later and he still couldn't help but have her back.

"It's simple, DiNozzo," he said aloud, trying to refocus on the stupidly difficult task at hand. "Just keep it simple...Couple of sentences…"

He flexed his fingers, letting them hover over the keys as he took a deep breath.

_Dear Ziva, _

He grimaced and backspaced, muttering, "Too formal."

_Hello_ _Ziva,_

"Hello Clarice," he quipped and shuddered, erasing it as well.

_Hey Ziva,_

He paused to stare at that for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod and rewarded himself with another swig.

_I hope you are well. It's still freezing here; it was an unusually cold and rainy spring and of course all the dead bodies have been outside lately._

His fingers hovered for a moment as he considered the macabre opening, but then just shrugged and pushed forward.

_Abby is at a conference about DNA. Or is it fingerprinting? Blood? Something like that. Breena is pregnant and Abby got Palmer this daily calendar with pregnancy facts about the development of the baby. It's the size of a gummy bear I think; I haven't really been listening all that well. Gibbs is Gibbs. Delilah is over near you now. McGlum misses her and won't stop sulking, but the assignment is only for sixteen months and then she'll be home. _

_Unlike you..._

He allowed those two satisfyingly painful words to remain on the screen for a few moments before erasing them.

_So, listen. Dad is getting married. Again. I know, big surprise right? But this time is different. First off, for the first time in several decades, he has chosen a woman who is older than me. And considering that (despite my best efforts to stop the process) I myself am significantly older than the last time he walked down the aisle, well that is impressive._

_The lucky woman is actually my godmother, Linda. Did I ever mention her to you? She was my mother's best friend. And yeah, I already accused him of screwing around with her back in the day, and he got all high and mighty and denied it. And yeah, I believe him, despite all the other screwing around he did. But it still kinda feels like a betrayal to mom. I know it shouldn't, but I can't help how I feel. Don't worry, I'm not letting it show and am being a good son and even helping with the wedding plans. Every time he annoys me, I can hear your voice reminding me that he's the only father I've got..._

He paused, one corner of his mind wondering if it would stir bad memories for her, wondering again how she had handled the anniversary of Eli's death. But the larger portion of his brain was focused on her voice now echoing in his head, debating if it was still an accurate representation of the real thing. He let it play through his mind so often, he thought it must be.

_Anyway, he's recruited Schmiel to give you an invite. I tried to talk him out of it, but you know how he is. He is really happy, Ziva. More happy and content than I've seen him since mom died. Seems silly to go almost an entire lifetime waiting to get that back. But all he seems to care about is that he got there in the end. _

He swallowed hard, leaning forward into his laptop. He didn't try to stop the words any longer.

_And it made me think, Ziva. I can't wait an entire lifetime. I can't believe how much time we've already wasted. All those missed opportunities. If I would have just said something, made a move any one of the thousands of times we teetered on the edge. Who knows, maybe we would have imploded each other's lives by now, but maybe...just maybe...you'd be sitting here beside me helping me plan my father's wedding. _

_There'll never be anyone else, Ziva. There is no moving on, no forgetting you, no getting past you. _

_Tried, couldn't. Remember? _

_I too will wait a lifetime if I have to. But I hope to God that you won't make me. Please, come to the wedding. Come back to me. I miss you. I need you. _

_Love,_

_Tony_

He slumped back against the sofa, a hand scrubbing across his stubbled face. He stared at the words on the screen, the proof of all the feelings and pain he thought he had been suppressing so well. "Guess not," he mumbled, sighing as he forced himself upright once more. The cursor hovered around the _SEND_ button, his finger tracing ever so lightly across the trackpad. He increased the pressure, wondering idly how sensitive the keypad sensor was, how close it was to sending at this very moment.

"Enough," he sighed after several long moments, moving the cursor and himself safely away from the edge of the abyss. "That's enough now."

He highlighted the entire body of the email and hit delete. Clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers, he began typing, his fingers pounding slowly but methodically on the keys. He was done in less than sixty seconds.

_Hey Ziva,_

_I hope you are well. I wanted you to know that dad is getting married and he gave Schmiel an invitation to pass along to you. Don't worry about responding; I know you're not able to come. He just wanted to let you know he was thinking of you. _

_Take care of yourself,_

_Tony_

This time, he didn't hesitate in clicking the _Send_ button, and then watched as the words dissolved away. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, her computer would be pinging. Would she hear it right away? Would she bother to look? Or would it follow its predecessors into a deserted account, leaving no trace that she even existed anymore outside of the voices in his head?

* * *

**This might have another chapter or two...the muses are still wallowing a bit longer, so I shall keep it marked opened for now. I hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Stumble and Fall

**Thank you to everyone for your encouragement and interest from chapter one! **

* * *

His father waved at him from across the grand room, Tony managing a wide smile in return. But as soon as the older man's gaze drifted away, the corners of his mouth fell, too heavy under the burden of the façade. He wondered how much longer he would have to sit there to be polite. Another three songs, four at the most, and he could probably slip away undetected. The toasts were done. The cake cut. The caterers paid. As far as Tony was concerned, he had completed his role as the dutiful son for the evening. Hell, probably for the next decade.

He tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the empty champagne flute and glanced around the room. She hadn't come. Not that he expected her to; after all, he had all but told her not to bother. But she had a habit of knowing when he'd need her, and some corner of his mind had just assumed she would magically appear, catching his eye and slipping quietly into the back row just as the couple said their vows. Tony had stood next to his father, his smile as wide and bright as was expected. He really was happy for them both, but it hadn't been enough to dull the acrid burn in his throat. Senior was getting his happy ending, and Tony was all alone, staring out in to a sea of faces that didn't hold the only one he wanted to see.

Forget the three songs, he was calling it a night.

"Hello, Tony."

The voice was so quiet, so familiar behind him mixing with the chords of the soft jazz band, that he wondered if he hallucinated the words. Three heartbeats passed, by which time he had almost convinced himself of his delusions, when he saw her out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up, and in that moment, his mind went absolutely blank.

It was her. The hair was a little longer and curlier, the skin a little tanner. But it was her.

Ziva seemed to be waiting for him to say something in reply, but words utterly failed him. After a few long and awkward moments, she spoke again, her eyes darting up to survey the crowd. "I am sorry I am late," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "My first flight wad delayed and I missed my connection, and..." her voice trailed off as a statue's face continued to stare up at her, no signs of movement. She tried again. "Did everything go well with the ceremony?"

His brain had slowly started working again as he finally registered her sudden appearance. Wasn't this what he had just been wishing for? After all, he had imagined this scene countless times in his head over the past year. He would sweep her off her feet. Bury his fingers in that thick hair and hold her close as he whispered promises into her ear. Handcuff himself to her side and throw away the key so she could never leave again. He would finally have his movie-worthy reunion and get his own, well-deserved happily ever after.

But this wasn't one of his movies. Never in any of those scenarios did he imagine the stirrings of resentment and tension that he was feeling now. Before this moment, he would have given anything to see her again. Now, he was wishing he could just slink away and never have to speak to her again.

_Careful what you wish for_, a snide voice inside his head quipped.

"Tony?"

He jumped and realized an inordinate amount of time must had passed without him so much as standing to greet her, and so he rose slowly to his feet and shook his head. "Sorry, it's been a really long day. Hi. Yeah, the ceremony was fine. Went off without a hitch."

She took a half a step and leaned in ever so slightly and Tony sensed she was going to hug him. It was a perfectly acceptable greeting from the person he cared most for in the world, but the idea suddenly made Tony's gut churn. He twisted away from her, actively searching the dance floor until he found his father and pointed. "There's the happy couple now. It'll be such a nice surprise for dad that you're here. We didn't think you'd come."

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she frowned. Tony felt the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach at seeing the familiar expression. "What do you mean? I-"

"Ziva!" Senior's voice rang out suddenly, loudly from across the room. "I was wondering where you were!" Oblivious to the less-than-warm reunion he had just interrupted, Anthony enveloped her in a tight hug, pulling back just enough to grasp her hands and stare at her happily. He motioned to the woman beside him. "This is my Lynda! Lyn, this is the beautiful, the infamous Ziva David."

Ziva tried to be polite as she shook the other woman's hand, but her worried gaze flicked back to Tony every few seconds. He did not meet her eyes.

"You knew she was coming?" he said quietly, staring at his father.

"Course," Senior nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "She submitted her RSVP card, what? Last month? I'm sure I told you!"

Tony struggled to keep the tinge of anger out of his voice. "No, dad, you didn't."

Senior waved a dismissive hand. "Must have slipped my mind. So many things to do in preparation for the big day," he said, squeezing Ziva's hand. "Come on now, I want a turn around the dance floor. Lynda, honey, you haven't had a dance with Tony lately have you? Tony, there's a good man!"

Senior swept a bewildered Ziva away before she could protest. She caught Tony's gaze for a few long seconds and seemed to be trying to convey something – an apology? Regret? He couldn't bring himself to look at her long enough to find out.

"Shall we?" he said automatically, leading his stepmother to the dance floor.

Lynda frowned and glanced to her new husband. "I'm so sorry Tony. He promised me that he would tell you she was coming. Are you okay?"

"It's fine," he answered quickly.

She studied him carefully - the taut line of his jaw, the eyes stubbornly fixed on a spot across the room from the other dancing pair - and wisely let the issue drop.

=.=.=

"You did not tell Tony I was coming?" Ziva pressed out through clenched teeth, not bothering to apologize as she trod over one of Senior's toes. "You said that you had...that he was okay with it!"

He winced with contrition. "Okay, okay. Mea culpa, I know. But I wanted you both at my wedding, and I knew that he would be a wreck if he had known you'd be here. Maybe even found an excuse to skip out all together."

She scowled. "So you thought it would be better to spring this on him? He is clearly upset with both of us, and for good reason! I need to go talk to him," she pulled away, but Anthony held tight to her hand.

"Just give him a few minutes, Ziva," he said, studying his son. "Let's you and I talk first. He just needs a little time and he'll be himself again and realize he's happy to see you."

Ziva glanced across the dance floor to where Tony swayed robotically with Lynda and knew that Senior was right - at least about giving him space. She sighed resignedly. "_That_ is not a man who is happy to see me," she indicated with a slight nod. "And I cannot blame him. It's been a long time since we've spoken."

"So why did you come?"

"Why did you invite me?" she countered irritatedly.

He gave her a reproachful look. "I asked you first."

She didn't answer for almost a minute, staring thoughtfully at her ex-partner's back. Anthony was ready to reclassify his question as rhetorical when she finally spoke in a quiet voice. "I thought he could probably use a friend tonight," she said simply. "Even after all this time, I knew I had to be here for him." She scowled, but it was a little less caustic than before. "Besides, you asked me to come and _occasionally_ I am somewhat fond of you. Though not particularly right now."

He had the good grace to look abashed. She squinted at him, unconvinced, and shook her head. "Now answer my question."

"What's that now?"

"Why did _you_ invite _me_?"

"Well I am quite fond of you all of the time," he teased, but she stared him down. "Nah, what can I say? I have the same motivations as you. I know how much he misses you - how much he needs you. And, well, I _had_ hoped that seeing how things worked out for me and Lyn might convince another jaded and bullheaded fool to take a chance on love."

Ziva frowned again, watching Tony carefully. "You're off the mark; he does not look so convinced to me."

"I was talking about you, honey."

She stopped suddenly, staring up at him with wide eyes and the stirrings of indignation. "Did you just call me bullheaded?"

"Yes, jaded too," he said confidently. She opened her mouth to speak, and Anthony sensed the tidal wave heading his way and cut her off. "Now, calm down. Can you honestly, _honestly_, tell me you have been happy this past year?"

"Yes!" she answered so quickly that he had to wonder if she had actually convinced herself that it was true. He stared at her silently for several seconds and finally she spoke again.

"Is anyone really _happy?_" she redirected. "It has been a big adjustment. I really am working on it, but it has been a rough year."

"For my son too," he said quietly, no malice in his voice. "Your choices and decisions greatly affected him too."

Ziva bit her lip. "That's not fair."

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

She nodded. "I can only imagine how difficult it has been on Tony," she said carefully. "But at least he still has his job, his home, his family. That is the difference. I left my past life behind. My whole world. All Tony had to leave behind was me."

Anthony shook his head. "Well kid, that's where you're wrong."

She looked ready to push the point, but then with one breath she deflated, her shoulders slumping forward. "You know he's better off without me. The best, most selfless thing I ever did for your son was to get out of his life once and for all."

For the first time, Anthony's good natured smile disappeared in a cold, disappointed frown. "You know how much I care for you, Ziva. But if you truly believe that, well then maybe you don't know my son as well as I thought you did."

Ziva felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes and looked down to their slowly shuffling feet. He remained silent, having said his piece, and allowed her to process his words. By the time she regained her composure and dared to look up again, Lynda was making her way towards them.

She tapped a finger on Anthony's shoulder. "I've bribed them into playing a tango next - you up for it Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Sure thing Mrs. DiNozzo," Anthony beamed at her, then glanced around. "Where'd Junior go?"

Lynda's smile fell slightly. "He said he was going to have a drink at the bar."

Anthony nodded, his gaze returning to Ziva, his normal spark and joviality restored. "You know what I find best to ward off jet lag Miss David? A night cap. Will put you right to sleep!"

"Subtle," Lynda sighed.

"You know you love me."

"God help me, yes I do."

"Congratulations," Ziva offered with the hint of a smile. "I don't believe I have said that yet. I should go get checked in and settled; I just dropped my bag at the front desk on the way in."

"You're staying here then?" Anthony checked and Ziva nodded. "Wonderful! Brunch is at noon tomorrow, we will save you a seat." He leaned in to give her a brief kiss on the cheek, reaching a hand up to cup her face for a moment.

"And the bar's to the right," Anthony said confidently, pointing to the double doors.

Ziva rolled her eyes and patted his arm, making her way across the room.

"That was a dirty trick," Lynda admonished as they watched Ziva walk away. She paused at the doors, her head turning left towards the hotel lobby. After a few long seconds, she turned right, disappearing from sight. Anthony sighed in relief.

"Dirty is the only way to play with these too, my dear."

* * *

**I had to rewrite this a few times to find a balance between my own anger with 'Ziva's reasons' for leaving and what I thought would be Tony's realistic reaction to seeing her again. This went a different direction that I originally intended, but I honestly don't think it would be instant happiness and picking up right where they left off...there's a lot to work out. But don't worry, there's another chapter to go to get us to a good place. :) **


	3. Still Learning to Love

The lowball was cold in his hands. A few droplets of condensation rolled off the leaded crystal, trekking icy rivulets down his wrist. He watched with vague interest as another drop fell to darken the rich, mahogany bar.

"Alright sir?" the bartender asked, startling Tony from his reverie. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Time machine would be nice," he mumbled quietly.

"Sir?"

Tony just shook his head, his gaze focused on the amber liquid. "I'm fine."

"And how far back would you go?" He jumped at the soft voice that had suddenly materialized behind him. Again. "An hour before I crunched the wedding? Or a year? To before I left?" She took a few steps forward, resting a hand on the back of the barstool beside him. "A full decade would be cleanest," she said fairly, tilting her head in consideration. "Before we met…"

He gave a hard chuckle, tipping the glass towards her in acknowledgement without looking up. "Crashed. You crashed a wedding," he corrected.

She shrugged. "My English is a little dusty."

He let that one go. "And besides, it's not crashing a wedding when the groom knows you're coming."

"That is why I wanted to find you," she sighed, drumming her fingers on the chairback. "I just came in here to apologize. Your father said that he wanted to be the one to tell you. I truly didn't mean to surprise you, Tony. I am sorry."

He had figured as much, but it didn't stop the dull pang of anger he felt towards Senior. She was silent then; his turn to speak. And words were indeed creeping up his throat. Words that scared him. He wanted to scream and yell and beg and plead, and he wasn't sure which reaction would rent its way out first.

So he focused on choking them all down instead.

He was so engrossed with the monumental task that he missed the way she was watching him. Missed the look of sadness and longing in her eyes. "In any case, that's all I wanted to say," she said softly. "I'll leave you alone, now. Goodnight, Tony."

He counted the _click _of three high-heeled footsteps before a single word finally came tumbling out.

"Stay."

Regardless of his inner maelstrom, the one thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't ready yet for her to disappear again. He pulled the chair out beside him, a peace offering, and waited until she sank into it. The bartender came back, and Ziva pointed to Tony's drink and held up a finger. "You look good, by the way," he said conversationally, carefully. His eyes trailed up, taking in the heels, the black dress, the mess of curls. She tucked a strand behind her ear and fidgeted self-consciously under his gaze.

"So do you," she said, giving his tux a once over. "It all seems to be quite the opulent occasion for a, what, fourth wedding?"

"Fifth," Tony corrected. "Though in fairness, it was only Lynda's second, so that averages it out some."

Ziva nodded, accepting her drink and taking a small sip. "So how are you?" she asked, her voice too formal.

"Oh great," he answered, his voice too cheerful. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more like himself. "And you? How goes the new life and all?"

Her face fell in disappointment and he couldn't blame her. None of this was right. It felt forced and awkward and wrong. It was all so damn wrong.

He sighed. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"I wish that you would."

He nodded, swirling the glass and listening to the gentle clink of ice against crystal. "Don't take this the wrong way. Because despite my awkwardness and apparent schizophrenia, I hoped I would see you again...someday. But why are you here _now_?"

She leaned her elbows on the bar and turned to study him for several long moments. "I know how much you struggle with your father. He told me over the phone how involved you have been with the wedding planning, and about his history with Lynda and your mother. And I just wanted…" She paused long enough for the fissures in his facade to well and truly crack. "Well I wanted to be here for you," she finished lamely.

It felt like a punch to the gut as he leaned back in the chair to stare at the coffered ceiling. She was there for him. The words should have given him comfort or pleasure or a sense of hope. Instead, all he heard was what she didn't say.

She wasn't there because she regretted leaving in the first place. She wasn't there because she missed him, or because she wanted to stay.

Ziva misread the silent reaction. "I didn't foresee that my coming would do more damage than good. I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I should have stayed the course...should have kept my promise to keep my distance. I know I've just reopened all these wounds from a year ago."

Each word was indeed like a knife into his already shredded chest, and so it surprised him when the hard chuckle boiled up this throat. "Ten months," he corrected, his voice harsher than he intended. She tensed in surprise but he continued, unable - unwilling - to control the simmering anger any longer. "Ten months and two weeks to be precise. For the first month, I couldn't sleep, literally couldn't get any rest for days on end to the point that it affected my work. Then the benders started. In fairness, Gibbs put a kibosh on those much faster than the last time. He sent me to the shrink. Again. Shrink sent me to a support group," he scoffed, glancing sideways; she was watching him as warily as she would a ticking bomb. "Me. Sitting around a damn support group talking about feelings and 'abandonment issues' and crap and somehow actually feeling better because of it. Ten months of pain and painstakingly slow progress to move on. And then you show up here tonight and undo me with just two words. I heard your voice back there and honestly Ziva, I honestly hoped you weren't real."

It was the first time all night - all year - he had allowed himself to say her name aloud. It always sounded so sweet in his mind, but in that moment, it tasted like vinegar on his tongue. He raised his glass and downed the whiskey in one shot, hoping it would chase away the bitterness.

Her response was quiet enough he almost didn't hear it. "I...I had no idea…"

His laugh returned, impulsive and bitter. "Don't give me that," he said. He was holding the now-empty glass so tightly that a corner of his mind wondered if it may just shatter in his grasp. She seemed to share his musings; slender fingers closed gently around his wrist and forced it back towards the safety of the bar top.

"Tony, I am so sorry..."

Combined with his admissions and her pitying response, the touch proved to be more than he could handle. The walls were closing in on him, the room suddenly stifling. The whiskey was well on its way to making a reappearance when he bolted from the seat, throwing a fistful of cash on the bar. "I gotta go," he muttered.

"Tony…" He didn't bother to look behind him as he fled, and didn't really pay attention to where he was going. He made it through the hotel lobby and out to the streets before she caught up with him. "_Tony_!" she all but yelled, grabbing for his shoulder. He shrugged her off, taking in gulps of the stale New York night air as if his life depended on it. "Stop running and talk to me! What is the _matter_ with you!"

"_You are_!" he yelled suddenly, spinning towards her. She jerked to a stop to avoid running into him. "Clearly _you_ are what is wrong with me!"

Her bewildered expression morphed then into something more complex: guilt, hurt, frustration. And anger of her own. "This is why I left - I am poison to those around me. _Why_ are you still letting me ruin your life like this!"

"_Let_ you?" he countered incredulously. "I didn't _choose_ any of this, Ziva! God dammit, does this look like something any sane person would choose?"

She ran her fingers through her wild curls and stared at him exasperatedly. "You are impossible!"

They were inches apart, staring each other down, chests heaving. It felt as if all the air was being sucked into the chasm between them, the silence utterly deafening. How long they stood like that he did not know, but after a while the investigator in Tony began to take notice of their surroundings. A couple waiting at valet was shooting them glares of disapproval and a bellhop looked as if he were ready to jump to Ziva's aid in case their argument came to blows. That was what finally broke through the roaring in Tony's ears, the idea that Ziva would ever need someone to help her. He exhaled loudly and folded in on himself, all the fight draining from him in an instant. He fell sideways to lean on a half brick wall and scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering into his palms.

"The future."

She maintained her rigid posture for several long seconds before joining him on the wall, leaving a few careful inches between them. "The future?"

"The time machine," he clarified, glancing sideways at her confused expression. "You asked me how far back I'd go, but I don't want to go _back_ in time. I want to go forward. I want to go far enough forward that I can see you and be happy. Hear your voice and not want to crawl into a bottle or put my fist through a wall. God only knows how far I'd have to go, but I wish I could just fast forward to that day I finally figure out how to stop l..."

The word caught in his throat, but she heard it anyway. She gripped the wall tightly, her knuckles white in the darkness, and stared down at her feet. "Your father was right," she sighed, resignation ringing in her voice.

Tony just stared at her incredulously. "Of all the things I _don't_ want to hear you say right now…"

She shook her head. "No, it's just... He called me a bullheaded fool." Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "And he's right. I...I lied to you. I didn't come here for you. At least, not just for you," she amended quickly as she caught sight of his wounded expression. "I came here for me, because _I _needed to see you. Because... Because I miss you."

He realized that from the moment he first heard her voice that night, those were the words he most needed to hear. "Why couldn't you have just led with that," he sighed and she gave a bitter chuckle.

"Because I'm a coward," she said angrily. "I'm a jaded fool and a coward and a selfish…"

He reached a hand out blindly, catching her wrist in his grasp and effectively silencing her. Unlike her touch in the bar, it was the first time in ten months he felt the smoothness of her skin under his own fingertips and, like an addict, he knew instantly that he was hooked once more.

The contact was at least enough to snap her out of the self-loathing jaunt. "How did we get here?" she mused distractedly, gazing around the busy New York street.

"Well, you followed me."

Whether she didn't recognize the sarcasm in his voice or it simply lined up with her existing train of thought, he did not know. But she answered him seriously. "About time. All those times you came after me. Even when I had given you no reason to. Nothing but determination or blind stubborn faith. And each time, I pushed you away..."

"Ziva, please stop…" He swallowed down the emotion, too many painful memories surfacing with her words. She looked at him then, and the tears were falling freely down her cheeks. He couldn't help but wonder if they were a part of the 'new' Ziva, the one who had emerged over the past year that he didn't quite know yet. Or maybe such displays of emotion were still as much of an aberration as they'd always been on her face.

"I miss you," she whispered again, and he could see the physical struggle as she fought against her instincts to bury it. "I miss you, and it's getting worse instead of better. I thought that with time and distance, it would be easier."

"Well I think tonight's display has proven I'm not exactly coping well either," he said fairly, and she gave a shaky but genuine laugh that warmed him to hear again. She wiped at her eyes, her attention returning to their surroundings.

"You know what this reminds me of?" He followed her gaze down the street but shook his head, seeing no familiar triggers. "The first time we truly talked," she continued.

He nodded, catching on to her train of thought. "Outside the Embasero. I remember. You told me about Mossad. And about Tali."

"I never could have guessed what you would become to me. How vital you'd be to my life."

"Which begs the question," he said softly, seeking more answers. "Why did you really leave in the first place?"

She scuffed her heel on the ground, not meeting his eye. "I lost Tali. I lost Ari and my father. I lost my job and with it my strongest connection to our team. In my mind, it was just a matter of time before I lost you too…"

"Ziva -"

"I know," she interrupted. "I know it's not rational and you have never given me any reason to doubt you. I didn't doubt you; I doubted myself. Everything and everyone I have ever loved, I've lost, and it was always completely outside of my control. Or worse yet, my own fault. I thought it would be better for once to rip off the band aid and start over again on _my_ terms before it was no longer my choice. Does that make any sense?"

Tony didn't answer right away. "I follow your rationale, even if I think your logic is flawed," he offered finally, and she conceded that with a silent nod. "So where does that leave us? Where do we go from here?"

She grimaced. "I don't know what to do. My plan was to come out here, see you for one evening, and return to Israel. But now? I have no idea. It's all so complicated."

He considered that. "Well the way I see it, you've got some questions to ask yourself. And really, the questions themselves aren't hard, Ziva. Being honest with yourself, that's the hard part."

She looked wary but nodded. "Questions like what?"

He pursed his lips, studying her carefully. "Okay well, let's start simple. Are you happier in Israel or in DC?"

Almost immediately, a small but genuine smile twitched on her lips. "It feels like I am home again," she said with a deep breath. "I am not really sure when Israel became foreign and America became home, but it is good to be back in the States."

Tony's answering smile showed a measure of relief. "Good. Now what about NCIS?"

The answer came much slower than the first. "I don't miss the death and violence that comes with the job. I haven't made much progress in the past year figuring out a new career path, but I don't think NCIS is my future anymore."

"Fair enough," Tony nodded and they both fell silent. She was staring at him, and he at her. They each knew the next question without him even verbalizing it.

"Do you truly think everyone - ," she paused on the word and he knew she mostly meant him, "- would be happy to have me back in their lives? After all I've put them through and leaving like I did?"

"I think the team has already proven that they all love you enough to forgive most anything," he said not unkindly and she nodded in understanding. "And even if you're not at NCIS, you'll always be in the gang, you know that. I can even see you and Ellie becoming friends."

"I'd like to meet her," Ziva said softly. She shifted on the wall then, facing Tony head-on and taking a deep breath. "I couldn't help but notice you said _they_ all love me enough to forgive anything. You didn't say '_we'_. Do...do you include yourself in that statement, Tony?"

He met her gaze and braced himself for the confession that he knew had the potential to give him everything he wanted or blow his life apart. "No," he said simply. Her expression fell, and he continued quickly, reaching for her hand. "Because if you do come back into our lives, Ziva, we can't just go back to the way it was. I can't be just one of the gang again. Not anymore."

He watched the stirrings of hope and fear on her face until she dropped her gaze to avoid his scrutiny. "So last question, Miss David. If you come back to DC, find another job, rejoin our crazy little dysfunctional familial group - will you stop pushing me away? Will you promise to stay and take a chance on...whatever this is we've been avoiding for the past nine years?"

She still didn't meet his eyes, her thumb worrying across the side of his hand. "We could crash and burn," she whispered.

He laughed softly. "Of course _that's _the cliche you nail perfectly. We could crash and burn, yes, that is a very real possibility. Or, maybe, this is the time we finally get it right. If you're willing to try?"

She looked up at him finally, and he registered tears brimming in her eyes a few seconds before she reached her hands up to caress his face. As she leaned in close, he felt more than heard the gentle _yes_ she whispered against his lips.

Before that moment, the clearest memory he possessed in the world was the feel of her lips against his as they stood on the runway ten months and two weeks ago. Somehow she tasted sweeter than he remembered, and he knew it was the difference between the finality of a goodbye and the promise of a new beginning.

She was the first to pull back, her hands still on his face as she leaned her forehead against his. "I promise, no more leaving," she vowed. It meant more to him in that instant than if she had said _I love you._

He pressed his lips softly to hers, once, and whispered his promise in return.

"I told you I would fight for you, Ziva. And I always will."

* * *

**Apologies for the delay on the last chapter. Hopefully it was satisfying...I wrote and rewrote it several times trying to strike the balance and keep it believable/in character. It's hard to do when one character is suddenly AU. Though I have to admit, it is somewhat cathartic to write for them again. :) Please drop a line and let me know your thoughts! ~J**


End file.
